[Filianore]

@akante

#996699
As far as I can see
There is nothing left of me
All my time in hell was spent with you

Mother. Mother. Mother. The word echoed within her mind, it radiated within her chest, and it clung tightly to her side, wrapped within the warmth of her curled locks. The female shifted, nuzzling the sleeping boy just barely enough that he rolled away from her touch. The winter had passed and spring had sprung, her son was not as small as he once was and she found that nothing had been any easier.

How strange it felt to be just as clueless as the day she had adopted him, wishing nothing more than to be a good mother to the boy. Against her side was another. The moon-touched knight, she turned her head slightly to glimpse at him as he slept peacefully and soundlessly.

The winter had been a harsh one, the trio hardly moved since, waiting for the weather to clear. Though the Apostle had a sinking feeling that them finding a new home was a dream turned sour. Borogrove was all she and the boy had ever known. Templar had come from a rich history with roots that extended far and wide. They'd know the sting of loss, Cain, their boy... No, her boy, had felt it much too early.

She had cradled him so much during the the winter, held him closer and tighter as the cold months dragged on. He would be loved, Filianore would make sure of that. The bright beams of the early morning sun cut through the rocky hollow of their den, pale gaze would look to the bright morning outside. The blades of grass illuminated by the dazzling rays, the chirping of birds and the welcoming of warmth. She'd slowly rise, though her legs begged her to lay back down and rest, she'd gently brush a paw over the boy and nuzzle at the Knight who only grumbled softly in his sleep.

The wolfdog staggered out of the den, squinting as the sun blared it's bright beams against her, she walked a little ways before coming to rest in the grass. The dew still collecting on the blades and there was a bit of a fog that crested over the lower areas of the field she had found. A figure in the distance caught her eye and she tilted her head, thinking at first that it might be best to leave them be, but her curiosity got the better of her. A tired smile pulled at her lips as she walked closer, a coat of browns and greys.  "Good morning, I'm sorry to bother you. I just- I saw you sitting alone and thought you'd like some company." She said craning her neck out slightly as her collar caught a bit of sun, the golden thread glinting in the light. "I'm Filianore." Over head clouds could be seen, no doubt another spring downfall would be in store.

[Rush]

blossoms dance upon the winds... It had been a terribly long while since she had last seen her daughters, her two beautiful daughters. The last of possibly the one true love she'd managed to find in this fleeting, cold, inconsiderate world. The last of what hope she'd had for finally finding some peace, some ease, some reassurance that it'd all been for something. That the love she'd found, the struggles they'd endured, their ability to survive and find each other again had not been hollow. These two girls had given her a new life, a new meaning, a new surge of warmth and - dare she say it - happiness. They'd blossomed into stunning young adults, eager and ready for the world. Mother Rush had bid them to stay close, to stay safe, to stay with her. But where were they now? She'd lost Clay first, shortly after their fairytale ending had begun. Shortly after she'd given birth to their two precious daughters. That time she'd waited first, their pups too young to be moved, and Ru's unfailingly altruistic hopes prevailing, dangling her on the hopes that her blessed Grey Knight would return to her. Return to their children. Every night those hopes left her alone, but every morning they'd return, just a little weaker than the day before. Even still she prayed, holding her breath around every bend so as to find Clay's warm, weary face gazing back at her. He wasn't truly lost... he simply wasn't here... And neither were the girls. Dahlia and Scythe. It was now she felt true loneliness - something that hadn't crept inside her in years, since her darkest of days. It wrenched its way in, twisting and coiling and choking out her breaths and her hope and even the warmth from her limbs. She felt weak and clumsy, full of doubt and self-pity and a deep disgust in her own being. She was stuck. Stuck in her mind brewing cyclical thoughts, stuck in this valley hoping for an impossible reunion, stuck feeling the sticky grip of despair and hopelessness. Hollow eyes threatening hot tears stared at the passing of a small stream of water, no wider than a lazy leap, as the tiny timber sat as she had been for days. Invisible weights kept her immobile, and an invisible grip around her throat left her breaths shuddering. But from afar, or hell, even up close, she simply seemed to be staring. "Good morning, I'm sorry to bother you. I just- I was you sitting alone and thought you'd like some company." Aside from her ears twitching at the sound of this stranger's gentle voice, Rush remained terribly still, unfazed. "Yes..." soft voice upon soft lips mumbled. But it wasn't this woman's company she wanted. Beggars could not be choosers, though. At that, blinks of realization shuddered and brought the girl back to the present. She slowly turned to glance up at the wolfdog, a tender, weak smile spreading across her dark face, "Company would be... lovely..." "I'm Filanore." Filanore. What a unique, beautiful name. What if she had considered that, had there been a third daughter? Scythe, Dahlia, and Filanore. The perfect trio. Glancing down for a half second, Rush closed her eyes to secretly blink away a hot tear that had built up at the thought. "Rush. My name is Rush." A deep inhale and she'd look back up, staring out into the distance before back at Filanore, her smile back and working hard to convince this stranger. And herself. "It's so nice to meet you, you're no bother at all. Is... is this your area? I didn't know...' She was merely a lost mother, seeking lost children, waiting for a lost - possibly dead - mate.

@waka

[Filianore]

@akante

#996699

There were lost souls everywhere, ones that had lost their lives to packs, flesh, blood, and most of all time. Nothing hurt a soul more than time, and the small dark-furred female that sat before her, marred with her scars had lost a great deal to time and tide. Filianore was an old soul living in a new body, unmarred and pristine, time did little to deter her physically. Though her memory suffered in ways one could never imagine. It was like looking out into a hazy summer day, the sun too bright and everything blurry and unfocused, or better yet, a fog covering an ocean in which one's eyes could never see the horizon.

A tender smile touched upon the lady's lips, as she dipped her head respectfully to this poor soul. Her heart soared at the chance of a conversation, naivety aside, this stranger didn't seem like a malicious sort. "I'm glad, it's been sometime since I've spoken to a new face." There was a whimsical sadness that wished to pull her soaring heart under, tugging at wounds that had not yet closed around that gentle heart, it was such a fragile topic. Her home, the one place she felt like she finally belonged. Destroyed.

I wake up once more, coated in ashes. My kingdom, my home-

There were no saints to be had to save ol' Borogrove, the Lord had forsaken them, and Fili felt all the more lost and weak for it. "Rush is a lovely name." Quite different than those that had surrounded her what seemed ages ago, their faces and voices fragmented like it had all been a sort of surreal-like dream. The Apostle settled by the other in a bed of lush grass and forget-me-nots, how ironic.

A smile from one mother to another, passed between the two, an invitation to tell a story. "It eases my mind to hear that, I was so afraid I'd disturb you." Her voice a soft near whisper over the birdsong and crickets. "No, I come from-  ...far away." Her voice trailed off, a moment when a memory aches. "Borogrove, it's the name of my home. Our home. "It's a charred ruin now, not a single bit of it left." Ash to be carried on the wind.

Tired eyes dragged their way slowly back to gaze at Rush, studying the quiet woman's features, imagining what years of wear that face had see. "Are you from around these parts? Have you a pack of your own?" A gentle, almost melancholy tone to her voice.